


Sprinkles

by spinner33



Series: CM - AU [13]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Christmas Cookies, Domestic Bliss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:31:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5517173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinner33/pseuds/spinner33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hotch wakes up on Christmas Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sprinkles

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays! =)

There was a light blinking on the shiny wood of the stair banister. Hotch could feel it more than see it, through the ajar bedroom door. He opened his eyes and realized there were actually a LOT of lights blinking – he had forgotten to turn off the Christmas tree before they had called it a night last night. Maybe because he had been too intent on getting Reid alone in bed? 

Hotch reached down a hand and stirred tentatively. Reid was koala’d around his middle, mumbling and making faces. Hotch petted Reid’s hair and smiled, then carefully moved a leg. Goody rolled around near the foot of the bed and stretched out in all directions. 

Hotch slid sideways, and Reid pulled away from him. Spencer balled up, pouting in his sleep. Hotch crept out from under the covers, and put his bare feet on the cold floor. He inched towards the door, one eye on Reid to make sure he was still sleeping. 

The blinking tree lit the path down the steps, through the foyer, and into the dining room. The abundance of wrapped boxes made Aaron shake his head again and smile to himself. There was hardly enough room to get through to the kitchen. He was about to flip the switch to quiet the cacophony of brilliant colors when he noticed the lights were cascading off of an unfamiliar shiny object on the kitchen counter. 

Hotch reached into the kitchen. He flipped on a low light and blinked around. There was a wrapped plate by the stove with a bow on top on a stack of flat objects underneath. A tag on the side had a warning skull and crossbones drawn on it. Hotch lifted the edge of the noisy, opaque red cellophane, and grinned broadly. 

“Aaron….” Reid had appeared in the doorway as if by magic. 

“What?” Hotch gulped. He whirled around, mumbling through a mouthful of food. He had a frosted Christmas tree cookie in each hand, and sprinkles on his pajamas. Reid managed to scowl and smile at the same time. He took the plate of cookies from Hotch. 

“Those are for tomorrow.” 

“Remind me to thank Garcia,” Hotch mused. 

“They aren’t from Garcia. And you’re welcome,” Reid murmured, taking a small bite from one of the cookies Hotch was holding. 

“You made them?” 

“While you were wrapping presents yesterday. Jack went digging through Haley’s boxes, and brought me an old recipe. It was printed by hand on this tiny index card with apples and hearts on it. I thought he was missing his mom’s cookies, but the card wasn’t in Haley’s handwriting.” 

Hotch smiled through misty eyes. “I don’t know what to say.” 

“Well, at least now I know why you’ve been prowling around the bakery section of every store we’ve been in for three weeks. Next time you want sugar cookies with sprinkles, all you have to do is ask,” Reid replied, putting an arm around Aaron and leaning his head on his shoulder. 

“You noticed?” 

“Yes.”

“They’re my Grandma Shannon’s cookies. She used to make them for me when I was small. The trees with sprinkles. The reindeers with cinnamon redhots for noses. Candy canes with peppermint icing. Nothing special, but they were for me. She passed away when I was five or six,” Hotch murmured, picking around at the cookies through the cellophane. 

“Maternal or paternal?” 

“Maternal. Christmas comes, and I think about her cookies.”

“It’s not uncommon to associate particular foods with holidays, especially if those dishes are associated with someone you love and miss. Your mother didn’t…..? No, of course not. I cannot imagine your mom making Christmas cookies, in pearls and high heels, with a starched apron over her front.” 

“My mom is definitely not a cookie maker. But she does blend a very potent eggnog,” Hotch chuckled softly. Reid chuckled. 

“The offer stands. I will make these for you anytime you like.”

“You want some milk?” Hotch asked.


End file.
